


Snow Queen

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots from Vidumavi's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



> Many thanks to Aglarien for the beta!
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Rhovanion, S.A. 1255**

Vidumavi felt her toes cold as stones inside her fur-lined boots but still she remained in the garden. A thick blanket of snow, pristine and greying under the fading light spread around her. The boughs of the firs and spruces, laden with snow, threatened to comically land on the head of the unaware hunter, while the oaks looked like sculptured ice and the maples still held on to a frosty red. She stomped her feet on the ground, trying to delay the moment when it would be too cold to continue outside. 

The shrill notes of a lonely wren kept her company. Once inside her father’s cozy, flame-lit halls, she would not be cold anymore. Her mother, her friends and the midwife would surround her, feed her, offer her hot tea; the spicy one that made the baby kick strong into the night. She placed her hands, covered with thick mittens, over her belly, wondering why it had been quiet for so long. As if in reply, a flutter inside her told her all she needed to know.

“Snow Queen!” she heard behind her back, even as she decided it was time to return to the halls.

At the voice, Vidumavi turned to find her husband. Though heavily pregnant and hindered by the thick layer of snow, she flew into his arms.

“You are back, my love.”

Valacar held her tightly for a very long moment, kissing her hair. Slowly, they parted.

“You should not be outside,” he said, taking her hand and leading them inside.

“You sound like my mother.” Vidumavi smiled. “I thought you would not arrive before the baby was born.”

“My father held me for a little. And my mother…” Valacar shook his head.

“Not improving,” Vidumavi tried.

“No, not really.”

She squeezed his hand, in silent reply.

“The baby?” Valacar asked.

“He is doing exceedingly well, as you can see,” Vidumavi replied in Gondor’s Sindarin, earning Valacar’s smile.

“You improve every day, my snow queen,” he said.

They walked the last few steps in silence, before entering Vidugavia’s halls through the kitchen. As they came inside, a flood of noise washed over them, concern for her, happiness for his return, and for a few moments, they almost lost sight of each other, surrounded by people.

Mugs of hot tea made their way into their hands and they were seated at the big servants’ oak table by the hearth. Vidumavi’s mother sat by their side and Valacar’s friend Alton sat on the other side. The cook who, like Vidumavi’s father, did not believe a kitchen to be the place for a queen – or a princess’s for that matter- for once smiled and provided cake and toasted bread with a dish of butter and a jar of gooseberry jam.

A few of Vidumavi’s friends – she did not like calling them ‘her ladies’, for they had grown up together – also sat. For a few minutes there was a confusion of words over food, inquiries about Valacar’s journey, reproaches about staying out in the cold... Vidumavi savoured the contrast with the silence of the woods. This was music too, this love that filled the words, this bustle of caring acts performed on her, on her husband.

Valacar was telling her mother and her friend Meadow about the silk cuts he had brought when Vidigavia came into the kitchen.

“My son,” he said, patting Valacar’s shoulder as everyone rose and bowed. “How was your trip?”

Another round of questions and answers followed as Vidigavia nibbled on the toast and the servants stood awkwardly.

Queen Synne rose and gestured the cook and the helping maids. “Go on, dears, do not let our presence hinder your work.” Turning to her daughter, she added, “And you, darling, should take off those boots and have your feet up for a while.” Squinting a little at her husband, she said, “You, boys, can catch up at dinner time.”

Vidigavia laughed and all followed the queen as she left the kitchen.

* * *

“It is time to go down, my love,” Valacar said, rubbing Vidumavi’s feet. “Everyone must be sitting down for dinner at this very moment.” He shifted to pull back up the fur that had slipped from his shoulder.

Vidumavi smiled from across the bed. “I am sure they will find an appropriate explanation for our absence…”

“You need to eat – for two,” Valacar said, diving under the silky furs and nestling by her side, his arm draping around the vast expansion of her swollen belly.

Vidumavi sighed. “All right,” she said, slowly stretching.

They rose and started dressing themselves.

“So, what did your father say?” Vidumavi asked. “You have been remarkably quiet about the matter…”

Valacar shook his head. “Nothing that we did not know. There will come a time when we will have to go to the south, but not yet.”

Vidumavi sighed, relieved.

“Do not worry, my love,” Valacar said, stopping the buttoning up of his shirt to kiss his wife. “They will love you. You will be their Galadwen, their golden queen.”

“You are very optimistic,” Vidumavi jested. “But I will do my best, for your sake and for our little Vinitharya’s.”

“And what if it is a little Mathilde?” Valacar parried. “You sound awfully sure.”

“I know it is a boy. Mothers know.”

Valacar chuckled and helped her fasten her dress.

“There. Ready?” he asked. “We have a child to feed.”

“And the proper prince of Gondor does not want people wondering about what he does with his wife all locked up in his room.”

Valacar chortled. “I am no prude. It is just that in Gondor people are… more discrete concerning certain activities. And from the comments I used to hear in the barracks, I suspect women with child are not quite as fiery as your sweet self.”

“Perhaps their husbands are not as enticing as your own handsome, tender self.” Vidumavi quipped. “Come.”

* * *

Three nights later, in the dead of the night, Vidumavi woke, feeling a slow pain in her lower back. She turned to her other side and buried her nose in her husband’s hair, draping an arm around his waist. She waited, but that dull unease would not let her fall back to sleep. After a little while, Valacar spoke.

“Are you well?”

Vidumavi yawned. “I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”

Valacar turned to her side and searched for her face in the dark with his fingertips. “Are you well, my love?”

“It is probably nothing. Go back to sleep.”

They snuggled together and soon Valacar drifted back to sleep. As the first light slipped through the fringes of the window panes, Vidumavi rose and quietly dressed. Then she left the room, in search of Haleigh, the midwife. The time had come.

As the long hours dripped by, the pain increased from mild discomfort to the most excruciating sensation Vidumavi had ever experienced. Occasionally, she heard her husband’s voice outside, brimming with concern. Her mother came and went, as needed. Her friend Editha stayed by her side, holding her hand, rubbing her back. When the pain stopped, for briefer and briefer moments, she could breathe. Then it came again, impossibly stronger. It was rather late in the afternoon when Haleigh felt her again and told her to crouch. “You are ready. The baby is very big. You will have to push as if your life depends on it, because it does.”

She did, she pushed, she worried because at each push nothing seemed to change, but she pushed more and finally, suddenly, amazingly, it slipped out of her as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Editha held her as Haleigh held the baby and her mother tied the baby’s cord and cut it. Haleigh handed the baby to her mother and palpated her belly until she felt the birth sheet leaving her body too.

“The baby,” she said stretching her arms to her mother.

“Wait, dear,” Queen Synne said. Vidumavi watched as her mother held her son, for it was a son, by the feet and spanked him, once, twice, and then there was a cry. Valacar forced his way into the room, followed by the sounds of protest, but all was well now and they laughed and cried together as they held their new baby.

“Look at his tiny hands, my brave princess,” Valacar said.

“They are just like yours,” Vidumavi replied, beaming. All was well in the world.

* * *

**Gondor, 1261 SA**

“Lady Galadwen,” Editha said, curtseying as she entered the parlour.

The Gondorian ladies of the queen’s house and the Northwomen of Vidumavi’s own house turned their eyes to the door.

She shook her head as she set her embroidery down. Editha insisted that they should keep formalities at all times, now that she was living in Gondor as the future queen, but it still felt odd, after a year, that her childhood friend would not call her by name anymore.

Editha approached her with swift steps. “Something is wrong with the queen,” she said.

Valacar’s mother had been bedridden even before Vidumavi had arrived in Gondor. Her declining health was no news, but Editha looked troubled. Vidumavi followed her down the halls and was followed in turn by the Gondorian Ivrien.

The three women stood at the queen’s door, listening as the healer described how a paroxysm had left her incapable of speaking and with trouble breathing.

“As you know, my lady, this is not the first stroke Her Majesty has suffered and I fear it has been the final blow to her fragile health,” the man said.

Behind him, Vidumavi could see her law-father, Rómendacil, holding her hand.

“My husband?” she asked, as the man withdrew into the room.

“A page has already been sent to call him,” Editha replied.

More people gathered around them and the murmurs threatened to become too loud.

“Excuse me,” Ivrien said to the courtesans next to her. “This is no spectacle. His Majesty will certainly have any changes announced. Now back to your affairs.”

As she kept unabashedly shooing them, Vidumavi wondered what this gesture of pragmatic kindness would cost her. Ivrien had already heard a few words on account of her betrothal to Alton and her friendship with her.

She walked into the room and sat at her law-mother’s bedside. The queen had welcomed her to court with a mixture of friendliness and reproach, for having kept her son for so long in the north. Queen Hallothwen had not been an enemy, but sadly, she had not been a friend either. Now, she was dying, Vidumavi could see it.

Hallothwen opened her eyes and tried to speak, but the words were unintelligible. The healer gave her water, but she chocked.

“Here,” Vidumavi said, replacing him.

And there she stayed, in the darkened room for a vigil of two weeks. She left her side only for some quick meals and an hour of playtime with her little Eldacar. Ivrien and Editha helped too. The queen finally passed, leaving her suffering behind. All through the funerary rites, Vidumavi held her back straight, but after, she collapsed in her bed and soundly slept for two days, with only brief moments of alertness, to satisfy the most basic physiologic needs.

When she returned to the parlour, on the third day there was a silence before the chatter recommenced. She looked at Editha and at Ivrien, then took her place and picked up her embroidery.

Later, when they were alone, Ivrien spoke to her. “Lady Galadwen, there is something that you should know.”

Vidumavi nodded, but Editha held Ivrien’s arm. “No, do not tell her. She does not deserve it.”

Vidumavi took her friend’s hand and freed Ivrien’s arm. “Tell me, friend, what is so terrible?”

“As you know, many of us admire you and feel that Lord Valacar made an excellent choice in spouse.”

“However, many despise me, for my blood, for my customs…” Vidumavi offered. “I know.”

“Some of those were touched by your dedication to the late queen, in these last few days. They do not despise you, they merely fear the unknown… regarding Eldacar’s longevity, if I may say so.”

“Ivrien, I am aware of that.” Vidumavi asked. She wished things were easier, sometimes.

“It is a good thing,” Ivrien said. “But others, only a few venomous tongues, are insinuating that the queen’s death will work to your advantage.”

Vidumavi wrung her hands. “Lord Calimehtar again?”

“Yes. His grandson, Castamir, who is barely nineteen, already works with his father and grandfather in spreading the filth.”

Vidumavi sighed. “Am I right in assuming that is not all that is being said?”

Ivrien nodded. Editha lowered her eyes to the ground. “You should have kept quiet, Ivrien.”

“What can they do, except sully themselves with these lies?” Vidumavi replied.

“The people loves you, Lady Galadwen, but there are dangerous men and women moving in court.”

“What do you suggest, then Ivrien? Is there really anything I can do? Those who want to see evil will always do so.”

“No, lady. I would not advise anything, at this moment. But be careful.”

Vidumavi nodded. “I will. Thank you, Ivrien. You are a loyal friend.”

* * *

**Gondor, S.A. 1325**

She was old. She was an old woman, with a still hale husband who was actually older than her. At this age, she should have the wisdom to effortlessly negotiate the awkwardness of her current condition, but life puzzled her in ways it had not when she had been young. Vidumavi stared at the mirror, her once golden hair almost pure white now, the face, not as wizened as a peasant’s, but far from young anymore.

Valacar still loved her, he said. Sometimes, they were still as man and wife and she wondered what he could see in her, now that time had ravished her. He told her that she was still – would always be – his snow queen. 

She rose from her vanity and walked to the window. Vanity was the correct name, she thought, casting a mean look at the offending piece of furniture. Vanity was the root of many evils and she had no right to be sad, not when her life had been, still was, so full of love. 

Outside, right below her window, sat the Queen’s Orchard. Valacar had built that surprise for her the year Vinitharya – no, Eldacar, she reminded herself – had been born. Right before returning to Rhovanion, he had asked his father to plant an orchard of almond trees. Now, every spring she had a sea of white flowers, not the snow she loved so dearly, but still white, gleaming white, a feast for her eyes.

Someone knocked at her door.

“Enter.”

“Queen Galadwen, ma’am,” said her maid, as she curtsied. “Lady Loeneth’s is feeling the first pains.”

At these words, Vidumavi forgot the weight of age and ran out of the room and down the halls. Her law-daughter was a motherless child. His son had picked a wife from a high line, with a powerful father, but her mother had died when Loeneth was but a child. It had taken Vidumavi some time and skill to find a way around Loeneth’s reserve, but in the end she had won the girl’s heart and Loeneth had become the daughter she had never had.

Her son was standing outside the room. “Darling, will you not go in?” she asked, stopping at the door.

Eldacar shook his head. He was pale and his mouth was a thin line. Her son had made a fine choice of a wife, a loyal girl, with hidden strength, but it had not been a match of love, not initially. She smiled at him, thinking how nervous he was now, how Loeneth had become so much more for him than just a fine breeding mare.

“We will take care of her, do not worry,” she said, as she vanished inside the room.

She was the first to hold Ornendil as he left his mother’s body. Thankfully, Loeneth’s labour had been quick and easy. They cared for mother and child and cleaned up before the men outside were allowed in. 

Her son glowed as he stroked his child’s hair and kissed his wife’s forehead. Valacar, grinning by her side, held her by the waist, as they looked at their family.

For a moment, a shadow fell across the baby’s face. Vidumavi shivered, but the moment passed as his maternal grandfather entered the room. She let the men adore the little newborn for a few moments, then shooed them, to give Loeneth a chance to rest.

Tomorrow would be a day for announcements and celebration, kingdom wide. Perhaps, now, the people who had welcomed her so warmly would remember that it is all about family and love and kindness. Joy. Because that was another thing that puzzled Vidumavi, that she had become their Galadwen, that she had done her best and that they loved her, and yet voices whispered about Eldacar’s supposedly weak blood. They had nothing to fear now. Eldacar was a man of integrity and strength and he had a successor now, a beautiful male child, whose mother had the purest Westernesse blood running in her veins.

She could not see how anyone could not love her son, and now his grandson. Her husband was a just king, and together, they had worked to aid in their people in every way. For whatever time she had left on Arda, old or not, she would use the rest of her strength to be their queen, to continue her life’s work and, hopefully, to win the dissident hearts to her son’s cause.

_Finis_   
_December 2015_

**Author's Note:**

> I used to names in Old English for the Rhovanion characters, picked from this site: http://www.babynames.ch/Info/Language/laOldEnglish
> 
> For the Gondorian characters, I picked Sindarin names from this site: http://www.realelvish.net/sindarin_names_elements.php
> 
> The almond tree orchard in substitution of snow comes from a Portuguese legend about a Moorish king and his Slavic wife. Very romantic stuff. :)


End file.
